


Bitter Chunks of Moonlight

by Writer25



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: AU where for some reason they live in Philadelphia??, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, I wrote this at 2:00 AM and it sucks a lot, M/M, Short One Shot, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 16:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13815357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer25/pseuds/Writer25
Summary: A blossoming romance quickly devolves into a nightmare when death happens upon the unsespecting teenagers. Years later, grief still prevails over their lives.Written for a <1,000 word challenge.





	Bitter Chunks of Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you want. I know this sucks okay?? It's really hard when you can't use more than 1000 words.
> 
> Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

He died in 1967, on a warm summer day in the suburbs of philadelphia.  
The glint of the bright setting sun reflected off of the lake’s water; it was quite a sight to behold, the swirl of light pink and orange the sky held that evening. It was precisely 7:51 PM, just minutes before the darkness would slurp up the sun and the stars would gleam bright, like drops of moon in the sky.  
He sat on the end of the dock, his shirt off and his shorts damp from the water, with a worn-down ratty ball cap on. He took a mental picture of the setting sun, and saved it in a special folder in his mind. Memories he would soon forget. Memories much too good to last longer than a flicker of shutter as a picture is taken.

  
He wasn’t alone. He didn’t much enjoy spending time by his lonesome, anyway. Resting on his shoulder was the head of another teenager, who whispered sweet words into his ears. Like “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. Don't forget it.” They sat in looming silence as they absorbed their surroundings. Back then, they were fresh sponges, the wear of time not yet soaked into them but the looming innocence that once preceded them faded to a distant puff of smoke, like the wisps of cigarettes that trail off a tired man’s lips, jading over time as they disappear like fogged silhouettes, walking away, not looking back, getting sucked into the abyss of time.

  
Time rules all. It’s what wears down innocence, what exhausts the ebbing humanity, and what decides your expiration date. His was August 15th, 1967 at 7:58 PM; right when the sun set.  
He was only 19. He had his whole life in front of him, but now it's gone. All he has left are freeze-dried smiles he kept in ziplock bags that you cram in the freezer for days when you can't even move on. The sparse moments still aren't able to be contained, because the ice takes up too much space in the icebox. Luckily, you can still fit. So you shove yourself in to freeze the sorrow off your body. Blue skin tears off in chunks, hitting the floor and melting out craters. He’s shattered, like a telescope’s lense. You try to see through it but you can’t, it's too broken, fragmented stars obviate the sky you watch him from.The splintered glass’ cracks trail up and down his body.

  
Sun-kissed lips of pink whisper everything you've ever wanted to hear. He's going to come back. He's going to come back. He's going to come back.   
“Steve, get ahold of yourself!”

  
He sits on the sand with his legs crossed and his posture droopy. He watches the tender morning sun wake up and stretch across the sky. The waves yawn as they crash on the sand.

  
He picks up the cup of coffee and brings it to his sandpaper lips, taking a small sip before setting it back on the sand. He's fighting for a ghost, none but a wisp that dances across the sky like the wind. A soul contaminated by years of neglect. He drifts aimlessly like the wind.

  
Tony Stark’s words ring out in his head: “What are you fighting for? What are you willing to die for? He remembers the dog days of summer romances. He remembers the nights spent under the stars. He remembers Buck.

  
That's who I'm fighting for, he thinks. That's who I'm dying for.

  
Reliving the memories. Over. And over. And over.

  
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and  
He dies on August 18th, 1978. Right when the sun rises.

He can't control his body. He tries to lash out his limbs or scream, but no one can hear him.  
Trapped.   
So many years of fighting, so many years of losing. So many years of watching himself murder. His valiant efforts are becoming weaker.

Its no use trying anymore. Most days, he doesn't even bother to wake up, instead opting out of watching the daily massacre that graces his eyes.Its time for him to move on in his stages of grief: mourning the loss of a life, his life. Acceptance.

He gives up. He sits back and goes to sleep within the recesses of his mind.  
He stops trying on August 18th, 1978. Right when the sun rises. 


End file.
